by S. J. Ryan
Centuries, he thought. And everytime he thought that, it disturbed him.
Repair robots and printers had done their best to keep station systems running, but eventually glitches would accumulate and time would take its toll. With regard to rejuvenation, the natural human body, with its modular design of cells programmed for self-destruction and replacement by new cells, had an advantage over many traditional types of machinery, but even the human body could not survive much longer than a single century without external servicing. Matt knew he was very fortunate that anything on the station was functional at all. But perhaps his luck would run out in the form of a fiery death inside this musty ball.
“Herman, I notice there are three hatches but only two OSVs. What happened to the other one?”
“It was used to descend to the surface.”
“When and by who?”
“It was used at Standard Time 13:07 on 11 August 2714, by Mattimeo Jackson.”
Matt flexed his eyebrows. “I don't remember doing that that.”
“I have no record of such an event,” Ivan said. “According to my records, you were in biostasis and approximately three light years from Delta Pavonis at that time.”
“Herman, are you sure that I was the one who used OSV Unit 1?”
“You are Mattimeo Jackson. My records state that OSV-1 was used by Mattimeo Jackson. Therefore you are the one who used OSV-1.”
Can't argue with that logic, Matt thought. Anyhow, Herman was old, and old machines are prone to mistakes, and rubbing it in wouldn't be productive.
"Herman, is the OSV programmed to land anywhere in particular?"
Herman, via Ivan, displayed a map of the surface. There was an archipelago in the northern hemisphere, and an island thousands of square kilometers in area in the northwest extreme of the archipelago, and in the southwest of the island Herman had designated a red X.
"I guess we're going there," Matt said.
"Matt," Ivan said. "I detect an extremely high pulse rate. Do you wish to have it stabilized?"
"No, let 'er race."
If he was about to die, he thought, he wanted to face death not calmly as a machine would, but in the stark terror of a natural biological organism. Feeling things, after all, was what being human was all about. For better or worse.
“How long until the OSV is ready for descent?” Matt asked.
“Approximately twelve hours,” Ivan said.
“That's cutting it close.”
Improbably close. Like someone wanted him off the station as quickly as possible.
Matt floated out of the ball, and let the spiderbots finish their repairs while he let himself become mesmerized by clouds. It's easy to pretend it's Earth down there, he thought. But he would soon learn the differences.
9.
That morning, thousands of kilometers away and hundreds of kilometers below the orbiting station, the Army of the Queen's Rebellion had gathered beneath clear skies and fluttering red and white flags. The land had once been a Britanian Midlander's tidy farm, but was on the way to becoming a sea of refuse and mud due to the tents and trompings of thousands of spear- and sword-bearing soldiers.
Amid the chaos stood a young woman with straight brown hair, a penetrating gaze, and a short sword. Upon the chest of her jacket were two fabric stripes she had neatly sewn the prior evening. She was reading a letter. A tall, older man and another man only slightly older than herself stood at her shoulders, while before them was the man with four crudely-sewn stripes on his shirt who had delivered the letter.
Carrot, who was the young woman, turned the letter over and over in her hands and frowned. She faced the captain and asked, "Are you sure you have the right person?"
"I was told to bear this to a young Northland woman who was expected to arrive in camp," the captain replied, "and you are the only woman dressed as a warrior that has come here in two weeks. Are you not Arcadia of North Umbrick?"
The paper stock was thick, the calligraphy elaborate, the signature by 'Boudica, Queen of All Britanians,' was . . . flamboyant.
"I am Arcadia of North Umbrick," Carrot replied, "but this letter is personally signed by the Queen. I have never met the Queen."
"Neither have I," the captain replied.
Geth, the older man at Carrot's side, said, "Then why do you follow the orders of someone you don't know?"
"Other than that she is in the prophecies of Aereoth, it's how an army is conducted, Northlander. Orders are given and followed without question. We cannot defeat Rome with village militias. We must all march to a single voice and hand, or even a lone legion will be able to destroy us one by one."
Carrot shook the letter and said, "I would like to speak to the Queen about this."
"The Queen is not available at this time."
"This is an army, you say," Geth growled. "Yet where is its leader? We've been here a week and I have yet to see her."
"The Queen often travels to villages, rallying the people to her cause. See here . . . " The captain eyed Carrot's stripes. ". . . Sergeant. Your refusal of direct orders from the Queen must be reported as insubordination and could result in the loss of your rank."
"Such tragedy!" Geth moaned with rolling eyes.
"Enough," Carrot said. "Inform the Queen's Staff that we will obey and depart immediately."
The captain saluted. Carrot, for the first time in her life, saluted as well. The captain left, leaving the threesome to crowd and puzzle at the letter.
Croin, Geth's son, asked, "What does it say?"
"That we are to go on patrol to the west,” Geth replied. “Following the Oksiden Road through the Dark Forest. Where is that?"
From in front came a man's voice, "Halfway across the Island.” The newcomer was standing where the captain had been, and at his side was a young man about Carrot's age. "You Northlanders really don't know anything about Britan outside your own tiny valleys, do you?"
"And who are you?" Geth demanded. He glanced over the cut of their clothing. "Midlander."
"I am Dran, this is my brother Jran. We have been assigned to your patrol."
"We don't need you."
"They're in the letter as to accompany us," Carrot said. She bowed. "Welcome, warriors."
Dran bowed. "Sergeant." He forced a smile. "Don't take this the wrong way, but while I have no problem taking orders from a woman, I was expecting someone older."
"You will address the Princess with respect!" Geth snapped.
Dran's smile broadened. "Oh, a princess of the Northlands! Yes, of course, every village up there has its royal family."
"Arcadia's father was king of five villages!"
"Villages of illiterates, I take it, in that the young man at your side is warrior's age yet doesn't know how to read."
"We had over fifty books in our public library! Then the Romans came and burned it, and that is why my son can't read. The Romans also killed the king, who was my friend and Arcadia's father. Do you challenge our right to vengeance?"
Before Dran could say anything, Carrot whirled and glared at Geth. "I don't want to hear anything more about vengeance. My father is dead and our village paid dearly because of blind vengeance. We are seeking justice."
Dran closed his eyes and bowed. "I am sorry for my offensive words, Princess. We're all here because we've lost something to the Romans."
"Please don't call me princess," Carrot said. "You can call me what everyone else does, which is by the name of Carrot."
"Carrot. Because of your hair?"
Carrot saw the orange strands draping her shoulders and cursed. She would have to concentrate better to avoid losing her temper, she vowed.
She bowed and said, “Dran and Jran, we are honored for your company.” She nodded to the men at her side. “These are Geth and Croin, my fellow volunteers from the Northland.”
After the exchange of bows, Dran said, “Sergeant, if we leave now, we can reach the Dark Forest before sunset.”
“Sergeant Arcadia makes th
e decision,” Geth said.
“He was only offering an observation,” Carrot replied. She knew Geth was merely defending her authority, but sometimes she found his lack of tact in doing so to be annoyingly counterproductive. “Our orders from the Queen are to leave immediately. And so, as Dran suggests, we shall do so now.”
With Dran and Jran already packed, Carrot, Geth, and Croin gathered their supplies, set their swords and spears, and together the group set off, heading toward the western edge of the camp.
Weaving through the melee, Carrot watched warriors brawl and stagger about drunk. One man passed water into a brook, while downstream several men filled their canteens from the same.
"No wonder the Plague spreads," she murmured.
"Lowlanders mainly," said Dran. "Don't expect them to have knowledge of hygiene, or any other topic beyond the range of the moment. The Romans have been destroying schools and libraries in the South for years. I doubt there is a single book between here and Londa."
"You know this for fact?" Carrot asked.
Dran shrugged. "My brother Jran and I are merchant booksellers. For that crime the Romans have placed a price on our heads. Well, that and that we are known to be members of the Southern Leaf.”
“Really?” Croin blurted. “We are of the Northern Leaf!”
“Be sure to tell everyone on first meeting,” Geth said, sighing. “Well, a march away from this sad mob will do us good. I don't know if they will ever scare the Romans, but I'm ready to flee from them!"
Dran shook his head. "The Lowlands were once the cultural center of Britan. But the Romans prefer to rule animals than fight men, so they destroy Britan's culture. Don't blame these people for what they are. It would be the same as starving a child constantly of physical food, then blaming him for being small and dull as an adult."
Carrot thought, Or starving a child of affection, and blaming her for being socially inept as an adult.
She quickened the pace until the oppressiveness of the camp was well behind.
They joined the Pola Road and headed South. Birds chirped, clouds scudded, and ox-drawn carts creaked. The cultivated countryside was dotted with villages from which wafted intertwined threads of smoke from cooking fires.
Carrot was mindful that everyone in her band was keeping their thoughts to themselves. She recalled how it had been so different when she had fought with the guerrilla forces in her cell of the Leaf. There, everyone was a Northlander and chatted constantly over tea and rice cakes between their hit-and-run ambushes of Roman convoys. She had learned much in the two years that she had been with the autonomous cell – of tactics and stealth and the virtues of speed and surprise over numbers and strength. With casualties kept minimal, she had felt that with time, they might yet have the Romans cut losses and return home.
But then had come the Plague, and a tenth of Britan was now sick to the point of death, and time was short, and bold measures were called for. They needed an army now. Boudica's would have to do.
Dran offered to carry Carrot's field gear, but Carrot declined. An hour or so later, after they had reached the crossroads and turned west on the Oksiden Road, she saw his brother Jran staggering, and quietly took his back pack. She caught the look on Dran's face as she marched ahead with the double-load and without a sweat.
"Are all Northlander women as durable?" Dran whispered to Geth.
"The Prin – Sergeant Arcadia is special."
"I notice also that her hair changes color on its own," Dran said. "It was brown when we first met, then orange for a while, and now brown again. Is that a property of Northlander womenfolk?"
Carrot blurted, "It's – it's just the way that sunlight plays upon it."
Dran, perhaps startled that she had been able to overhear, lapsed into silence once more.
By late afternoon they had reached the ridge overlooking the valley in which the Dark Forest lay, and seeing the expanse of thick evergreens stretching beyond the horizon, Carrot agreed to Dran's advice that it would be best to rest for the evening and span it after dawn.
They set up camp in a clearing beside the road, started a fire and ate their preserved meats, rice cakes, vegetables, and fruits. Again, silence. Carrot decided to take the initiative in socialization.
She crawled over to the rock where Jran was sitting and nodded to his left leg. "I noticed your limp."
"I fell off a horse when I was young," Jran said stonily. "It doesn't bother much."
She had seen the wincing for hours. She held out her hands and said, "May I?"
Jran shrugged. She touched his leg, and concentrated. There, there was the knot. The shin fracture had not healed smoothly, but it would not be a problem for her talents, either. She closed her eyes. Concentrate . . . .
Jran gasped. Dran leapt forward but Geth checked him and said, "Let her work!"
Carrot opened her eyes to find Jran staring at her. "Try it."
Jran stood up and hopped and walked. He grinned at his brother. "There's no pain, Dran! There's no pain!" He gave a little dance and whooped.
Dran stared open-mouthed at Carrot. "Is this healing talent common among Northlanders, or are you special again?"
"I ask that you keep this in confidence," Carrot said, returning to her place. "When people learn that I can heal, they think I can heal the Plague, and I cannot. In the Northland, parents journeyed to seek aid I could not give, and I don't want that here."
"Storytellers of the Midlands say of how the mentors became guardians of a breed of witch who aided them in the War of the Mentors and Witches. Are you such?"
Carrot felt her cheeks burn. "I am not a witch."
"It's all right to speak freely. In the Midlands we are enlightened. We know witches can sometimes be good, and we have no prejudice."
"I. Am. Not. A. Witch."
"A Priestess of Pandora then?"
"Whatever that is."
"The Romans speak of the Sisters of Wisdom. Are you – "
"I don't even know who they are." By act of will, she commanded her rebellious strands to remain brown, but not all of her temper remained in check. "I have a question now for Midlanders. Do Midlanders have fields to tend, or do you spend your days reciting ancient myths? As for us, we five mortals living in the here and right now, we are headed for unknown territory, and need to plan – "
She paused because she, of course, was the first to hear it. But soon they all did: a low roar emanating from the west, that sounded at first like thunder, but then didn't stop.
They all stood and stared at one another. The rumbling was still soft, but it echoed against the mountains. Somewhere, the reverberation said, the noise had to have started out loud. And for anyone who had grown up on Ne'arth, the first thought on that was: volcanic eruption.
A prominence on the ridge blocked their view of the source. Carrot spied the tallest evergreen nearby and climbed. At fifty meters above, she had a clear perspective all the way to the western horizon. The sun was low over the mountains and the sky was a deepening blue. She saw no volcanic plumes.
However, in the southwest, gleaming with reflected sunlight, was a silver cloud like none she had ever seen before. It was thin and stretched straight as a pin horizontally. Carrot's heart skipped a beat as she realized it was slowly extending northward to almost exactly due west.
Then it penetrated into a cloud bank. Then the noise stopped. After a moment, Carrot shimmied down.
"You climb better than a squirrel!" Dran exclaimed. "You're not even winded!"
"What did you see?" Geth asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "A falling star, perhaps. Yet I've never seen one so large or close."
Contrary to Dran's statement, she had to catch her breath, though that was due to excitement and not exertion. As she described specifically what she had seen, in the back of her mind she wondered, Did this apparition have to do with why Boudica sent us to patrol here?
10.
Matt had heard the thunder too – from inside the OSV.
Atmospheric buffeting had commenced within minutes of detaching the station, starting with a keening whistle that grew into a thunderous roar while the vehicle shook with ever increasing intensity.
The lights cut out and the stabilizers went offline and he was slammed against the restraints as the vehicle tumbled. Then – WHAM! Parachute deployment. But any hopes he might have had that the worst was over were soon dashed when Ivan's tap into the OSV's external camera showed one of the parachute lines had tangled. The OSV computer compensated to stay on the same trajectory, but the vehicle was swinging like a pendulum and coming down too fast.
After minutes came another WHAM! But this one came with a splash, and then he heard the gurgle of water. The vehicle stopped moving. Then it slowly tilted from the upright, until it came to a position it seemed to like and stopped for good.
Matt sat in darkness, fingers clutching the arms of the couch, breathing hard.
At last he said, "I'm waiting to hear that we made a successful landing."
"All vehicle systems are offline," Ivan said. "However, my accelerometer indicates that we have ceased to fall. That telemetry is indicative of a successful landing."
Matt undid the straps and slipped from the acceleration couch. He groped in the darkness and felt the hatch cover, slightly canted from zenith. He took a breath and twisted the hand wheel in the center.
"I do not advise exit from vehicle at this time," Ivan said. "I have not completed an analysis of the external environment to determine whether it is safe for human life."
"Do you have the capability to analyze the external environment?"
"Gravity is near Earth Standard. Otherwise, I have no sensory input at this time."
"We're going to have to risk it, but I don't think it's much of a risk. From orbit, this planet looked too much like Earth not to have been terraformed that way."
With a click, the wheel stopped turning. Matt pushed the hatch cover. The rim hissed and his ears popped. Then he started to smell . . . things. But they were not unpleasant.
"The atmosphere within the entry vehicle compartment has changed," Ivan said. "Pressure has increased to 1014 bars. Temperature rise curve interpolates at twenty-three point three degrees. Olfactory analysis indicates presence of vegetation including pollen and dust with traces of – "
